That Pearl of Great Price: Pluralism and Inter-Faith Dialogue

The kingdom of heaven is like treasure hidden in a field, which someone found and hid; then in joy he goes and sells all that he has and buys that field. Again, the kingdom of heaven is like a merchant in search of fine pearls; on finding one pearl of great value, he went and sold all that he had and bought it. (Matthew 13:44-36; NRSV)

In both of these parables, the Jesus of Matthew portrays two people selling everything they have to buy something. 

The first is just some person who found a treasure. I imagine the character in this story was wandering, traveling, or working and stumbled upon something precious. This precious thing was unknown (or un/undervalued) by whoever owned the field. The main character wants legal rights to this treasure and therefore needs to own the land.

Either this person was poor or this land must have been expensive (perhaps the owner did know about the treasure). The character "sells all [...] and buys that field." I choose to see this language as hyperbole, exaggeration to prove a point. Would anyone really sell everything and then walk naked and homeless to purchase a field?

But the hyperbole prods the mind to wander: how much did this person sell? Land? Home? Livestock? Clothes? Family heirlooms? Food? Tools? Body? Children?

And what is this treasure? Does the person want the treasure to sell it bit by bit and make money or simply to own it? Treasure is like the cake you can't eat and have at the same time. Treasure is for possessing and to selling, but you can't have it and sell it at the same time. You have to do one or the other. If you have nothing, of course you are going to sell it.

The kingdom of heaven is like something for which you give up virtually everything and then sell so that you can have more stuff than you sold to get it.

Jesus's second comparison is similar, but involves a character with a little more depth: this person is a merchant. Merchants buy things in order to sell them. Certainly, this merchant could have been looking for pearls simply to possess, but then Jesus had no reason to mention this person's vocation. This merchant wanted to make money selling pearls. I feel confident in saying this scenario does picture someone selling everything with the intent of buying it and more back.

The comparison is different in each metaphor. In the first, the kingdom of heaven is like the hidden treasure and in the second, the kingdom of heaven is the merchant. In both, the treasure is valuable, because the person sold so much to get a legitimate claim to owning it. Then the person will become wealthier than before by selling this treasure. We all eventually eat the cake. Unlike cake, after using the hidden treasure, the person gains more treasure.

And the treasures gained are the treasures of others. Their money, their valuables in exchange for your valuables. The characters get the treasure and the pearl and it is mutually beneficial for them and those with whom they barter.

I imagine not only an exchange of valuables, but also an exchange of value; not only mutual benefit of economics, but of ideas and ethics. I see these parables allegorically, exchanging religious, political, social, and philosophical ideas. The kingdom of heaven is not just something you want to own exclusively, but something you want to share. The hidden treasure hoarded is not as valuable as the treasure shared and multiplied.

And the same meaning comes when the merchant is the kingdom of heave, because the kingdom of heaven is not a singularity, but something that gathers from the world, growing in complexity and always changing.

The pearls are like the hidden treasure and the kingdom of heaven makes room for those that are the most compelling, those of the greatest price. But even after giving up some ideas to make room for one, that idea, too, is critiqued and sold for others. The kingdom of heaven is one that is ever changing, ever becoming better, and ever searching the world over for pearls. 

All thought is to be critiqued and even one's most dear beliefs must sometimes be sold for other ones. I'm particularly reminded of Meister Eckhart's prayer: "I pray, God, to rid me of God." Or consider John Cobb, Jr.'s suggestion that christocentric belief is self-defeating, for faith in Christ means displacing Christ as the center. Following Christ means abandoning Christ as the only way, i.e., traditional Christianity, for pluralism and dialogue (both inter-faith and dialogue with those of no faith), which can be seen as no Christianity at all (Christ in a Pluralistic Age).

If you started this blog hoping for an exegesis, you have likely been disappointed. I have read myself into and out of these parables. You might say I have been caught in the net of the text, reading something old and finding something new, that is, finding me (cf. Matthew 13:47-52).

Really, it is no wonder that I see in both of these parables something I purport to do: to have no sacred cows in my ideology, no treasure or pearl that I wouldn't give up if need be. I think we all find bits of ourselves in the Bible and art in general, partly because of eisegesis and partly because the pursuit of God, meaning, or Truth is the pursuit of the self, of identity--of ipseity, which is another process involving the bartering of hidden treasures and pricey pearls.

On The Unforgivable: Grace & Impossibility in Jesus & Derrida

"Do you think there is such a thing as an unforgivable sin?"

My friends know I love spiritual, biblical, and theological conversations. Sometimes they even appreciate my opinions. A few evenings ago, one of my friends asked me the above question. My answer surprised me a little.

I first admitted my ignorance of Matthew 12:31-32. The Jesus of Matthew's Gospel says "blasphemy against the holy spirit will not be forgiven." I know the passage, but I have never done serious study into what the verse means. I haven't even spent significant time trying to understand the passage without outside study. I've heard other people talk about what the passage means, but I'm too skeptical to take their words for it.

Not surprisingly, I thought of Derrida's nearly incomprehensible words after I thought of Jesus'. In 1997, Derrida wrote On Cosmopolitanism and Forgiveness, an intriguing combination of topics. And perhaps Derrida's thoughts aren't completely applicable. After all, my friend wondered not whether humans cannot forgive a certain sin, but rather if God could or would not forgive a certain sin or sins. Maybe Derrida's thoughts say more about God than I initially realized.

Derrida says, "We are all heir, at least, to persons or events marked, in an essential, interior, ineffaceable fashion, by crimes against humanity." A crime against humanity is "a crime against what is most sacred in the living, and thus already against the divine in man," and perhaps, in a sense, the blasphemy about which Matthew's Jesus speaks.

Derrida believes forgiveness should be "anecomonic," one should not forgive a sin because one wants to be forgiven. No one should give forgiveness in payment for a forgiveness or in expectation of a later forgiveness (cf. Matt. 18:21-35). In fact, for Derrida, anything that can be forgiven is not something needing forgiveness.

"If one is only prepared to forgive what appears forgivable, what the church calls 'venial sin', then the very idea of forgiveness would disappear. If there is something to forgive, it would be what in religious language is called mortal sin, the worst, the unforgivable crime or harm. From which comes the aporia, which can be described in its dry and implacable formality, without mercy: forgiveness forgives only the unforgivable. One cannot, or should not, forgive; there is only forgiveness, if there is any, where there is the unforgivable. That is to say that forgiveness must announce itself as impossibility itself. It can only be possible in doing the impossible."

I can't imagine Jesus would disagree with Derrida. Jesus made forgiveness sound sensational. A man in a parable does not forgive a debt and reaps condemnation. Peter asks how many times he should forgive his brother, who apparently commits a great amount of wrongs. Seven times? How about seventy times seven.

Jesus promotes the social justice of the Torah and Tanak, not the dueteronomic retributive justice upon which too many Christians focus. Retributive justice seems to have a place in society. The ancient Hebrew Torah set up retributive justice for their society to work. Today we continue it at the societal level with institutes for correction, however corrupt and non-corrective they are.

On the social level, Jesus and Derrida realize justice in a different sense, where we are all debtors like the man in Jesus' parable, all heirs to the most heinous of sins, all guilty. If we are all guilty, then forgiveness becomes impossible and necessary. But all of our sins are against ourselves and each other. "Forgiveness is ... mad. It must plunge, but lucidly, into the night of the unintelligible." It must happen in order to enter into relationship with others, with ourselves, and with God--the God in us and the God with us.

So we come again to Peter's famous question about how many times to forgive his brother. Jesus' answer is a ridiculous number intended for exaggeration, a hyperbole. Jesus' answer changes the concept of forgiveness completely. Jesus is not concerned with forgiving sins. "What would be a forgiveness that forgave only the forgivable?" Rather, Jesus is concerned with forgiving people.

Forgiving the forgivable forgives the past, which is doable, although sometimes hard. Forgiving a person means you forgive their future, too. Rationally, you cannot forgive something that hasn't happened. The unforgivable sin is the one that has not happened, but it is "the only thing to forgive[.] The only thing that calls for forgiveness." This is the only forgiveness that can be unconditional, the only forgiveness that is actually forgiveness.

"In principle, there is no limit to forgiveness, no measure, no moderation, no 'to what point?'"

And so it is with God, I believe. I still do not understand the whole bit about blasphemy against the spirit. But I imagine God forgives people, not sins. God is concerned with sins and wrongdoings, but God does not forgive those things. Things don't need forgiving, people do.

===

Derrida, Jacques. On Cosmopolitanism and Forgiveness. Trans. Mark Dooley and Michael Hughes. Thinking in Action. New York: Routledge, 2001. Originally published in 1997, in French.

Alter Ego Versus an Ego on the Altar

In this post, I am responding to a reading assignment and discussion from some of my classmates.

After Moses' spoke with God, he wore a veil to hide the fading brightness of his face. Moses wore this veil, this mask to create a distance between himself and the homeless, wandering Hebrews. The fading brightness of his face shows how people can change, how their ideals, their zeal, and their passion can fade overtime. Moses opted to be more constant and wore a veil.

In this event, we can see Moses an example of one who creates an alter ego (I am using Moses more as an illustration than I am actually saying what happened in the story). There was the Moses behind the veil and the Moses before the veil, who is the Moses people saw and with whom they interacted. The Moses behind the veil is the person Moses showed to God. But Moses spent more time with the people than with God. His alter ego became the ego. Eventually, Moses removed the veil, because of this change. The brightness left and the real Moses changed. The Moses behind the veil became the fake Moses, which is the person offered to God.

(Note, I am only giving one interpretation of this event and have no intention of calling Moses a bad person, a bad leader, or give him any other negative connotations than to say Moses was a human being like the rest of us. The following does not represent supersessionism or anti-judaism in my mind. Sorry if I unintentionally imply it.)

In Mark and other gospels, a veil in the temple is reportedly rent in two at Jesus' death. The rending of this veil can symbolize a similar rending of separate identities. As in the classic episode of the Twilight Zone, the longer we wear a mask, the more chances we have of becoming the person before the mask, the person people see in the mask.

The splitting of the veil can signify how our attempts at inauthenticity create an unintended authenticity. If I distance myself from my congregation, I am a different person with them, creating an alter ego. I give them a person who is not me. In time, however, I identify myself as a minister and I become the minister, the alter ego. Then person I give to my friends, family and God is less real. I will lead a split life. To me, this veiling and perceived distance can create more hurt and hinder more ministry than it will actually help.

But if I tear the veil recommended by some ministers, I create an intended authenticity. I become real with my congregations. Only when giving myself to my congregation can "I" actually be their minister. Instead of creating an alter ego, I create an ego on the altar, giving myself fully to God by giving myself fully to them.

I understand this stance can have downsides. Even our best decisions have "negative" side effects. After all, Jesus was mocked, excessively hurt, ostracized, and crucified. In not wearing a veil, Jesus even rent the veil that many perceived standing between humanity and God, a space many in power rented for themselves. Similarly, if we do not rend the space between the minister and those to whom we minister by becoming real, by becoming one of them, by deconstructing our role as different, then we rent out a space that is not ours, standing in between people and God.

Perhaps, as James Kay said, we might not always be "able to fulfill that role [of minister] for them, the very role which brought us together in the first place." Perhaps our inability to fulfill that role could be a blessing in itself, bringing the parishioner and the pastor face-to-face with God, instead of face-to-face with us.

If Jesus Died to Pay for Sin, Where Does Forgiveness Fit In?

In conversation the other day, I asked a friend, "If Jesus died to pay for our sins, then where does forgiveness fit in?"

===

If God required something, then it isn't forgiveness.

Forgiveness requires nothing.

No payment.

The forgiveness of sins cannot require blood and still be forgiveness.

Can it?

Parts of the Bible seem to think so.

But not all.

I don't think.

What do you think?

Roots, Memories, and Jason Mraz: One Interpretation of a Dream

I dreamt last night I was in my car, at an intersection in Shelby. It was as if I was leaving Boiling Springs, based on the direction I was driving. I was on my way to see Jason Mraz in concert. In real life, I know very little about Jason Mraz. He sings one song I recognize and enjoy. They also made fun of him on Family Guy the other night, saying he was just some guy in a hat.

I got out of my car, for some reason, even though I was in the middle of the road. Somehow I was now on the road going West, towards the concert. I got on some sort of sled-like contraption and went down the road, with my friends Dave and Dennis somehow coming along. Dave and Dennis are my two closest friends who live near me. Like friends do, I have invested a large part of me in them. I also have been thinking lately how location factors into altering friendships and how some friendships become memories and others continue. I was almost dragging my friends behind me, as if they were memories coming with me, not people.

The road stopped and we proceeded and descended, trying to get close to our destination at the Jason Mraz concert. My subconscious stole this image of the road coming from underneath us, it is a central image in a book I am reading by Joyce Carol Oates (Black Water).

The road ending, but I still continued. The path was gone, but I was still aiming for the prize. The destination was in mind, but the way uncharted and untraversed.

We didn't make our destination. We tried to grab onto trees. There were lots of tree, surely influenced by my watching of Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers last night. I love trees and the Ents are just superb in that movie. In the movie, the forests were said to contain a lot of memory and a lot of history. I tried to grasp at them, but kept missing.

We fell towards water, a river I believe. We managed to grasp roots and I helped Dave and Dennis get to safety. Did I care for them at my own expense or did I care for the memory of past friendships at my own expense? Is the latter healthy? My friends were going to help me, but I woke up before I could leave the roots and climb to safety. I was left in limbo, grasping at the roots of growing memories inside me. Perhaps the Trevar in the dream wanted to climb to safety with his friends, but the subconscious Trevar wasn't ready to move on, wasn't ready to leave the memories, even if meant his last moments of strength were spent grasping onto the bottom of what has grown into a beautiful part of him.

Struggling with memories, a pretty common struggle, I presume. At the Jabbok, Jacob struggled with the memories of his brother. In the garden and on the cross, Jesus struggled with memories of God, salvation, God's people, and self. It is easy to hold onto the roots, forgetting that the roots support and give life to the changing beauty above the ground.

Is God Bound by God?

Paul tells me Christ

was emptied of God

before incarnation and Immanuel.

So Jesus was fully human,

fully void of God

(yet still fully God).

God bound Christ

and sent him to earth:

a God in chains.

God binds God?

An Almighty who isn't

all that mighty?

For freewill's sake,

for love's sake

and for God's (some say),

God holds back God.

They call this Love.

They call it Just

that God stands still,

abounding in grave grace,

and bound by holy fetters.

Yet, some say, God will remove the chains.

They say God only wears them for a time.

Was God ever really hindered?

Drawing Lines & Finding Balance: Why I Won't Pursue a Philosophy Degree

Today I was reading a book, which may come as no surprise to you. However, I haven't been reading much lately, at least, not books in English. I've been translating Greek and Hebrew, reading blogs, and listening to music (which took the place of reading while I exercised, the largest, regular time I had been taking for reading). But today was cold and rainy, and I was too lazy to walk to the gym. So, I sat to read.

I am reading about ethics and deconstruction, which probably also doesn't come as much of a surprise. The author started going through a bunch of philosophers, summarizing a deconstructive aspect of their work with catchy phrases. I am familiar with all of the people on the list, although I have read very little from any of them, if anything. I felt impotent within the conversation. I cannot dialogue with people about Kant, Levinas, Hegel, and Kierkegaard, among others, when I have so little first-hand knowledge of them. And if the deconstructive conversation so often turns to them, how can I talk about deconstruction?

My solution was to seek a philosophy degree, because you cannot learn about anything without having a degree, right? I don't need the degree, but I could benefit from the classes, students, and professors for accountability and as dialogue partners. And I enjoy philosophy.

But I can't get a degree in everything. And I can't study everything, especially if I plan to be a socially active person--"social" connoting friendships and justice. Where do I draw the line between what is necessary and what is beyond my scope?

This line is a recurrent problem in my life. In order for the kingdom to come, so many things need to be done, just as there are so many things to study. Where do I draw the line between my areas of justice and areas I must leave to others? Where do I draw the line between taking care of myself and overindulging in leisure?

Maybe it is a God problem. I want to know everything, be everything, do everything. I want to go beyond all of my human limitations and be like God. Isn't that desire what all Christians want? To be like God? To be part of the Messiah, the body of Christ?

It is for me, at least. And I seek another line, this one between accepting my human limitations and pushing on, reaching to embody God's power--whether you call it Christ or Spirit.

How did Jesus manage it? According to John's Gospel, not so easily. He didn't want to settle for death on a cross. I think he wanted to establish justice in his lifetime, to rid the world of oppression, and foster love in the hearts of everyone. As the story goes, he prayed so hard against the cross that he sweat drops of blood.

He accepted his human limitations with just the cross and God gave him the resurrection. (Yes, I think Jesus went to the cross like Abraham went to sacrifice his son and like Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego went to the fiery furnace--without knowing what would happen next, whether they would be delivered or not.) But how did Jesus go about finding his limitations? How did he decide to take a ministry to the cross instead of to Rome? (Yes, I am assuming Jesus did not have to die and God did not require Jesus' blood.)

I still don't have an answer. But I'm OK looking--or, I try to be, since I guess I have to be--no matter how aimless and anxious I might get in the process.

What Could You Leave?

As many of us are wont to do, I'm thinking about when Jesus asked that man to sell everything he had and give the money to the poor (btw, I don't understand why Jesus didn't suggest that man give some of his nice things to the poor) (also, it is late and I'm not going to look up references, but I'm pretty sure this one story occurs in multiple gospels).

I am glad many of us contemplate this story so often, even if it is so seldom pleasant, if it is ever pleasant. Just as each baby is a unique human, so does each spiritual birth yield something new and being born again means something different for each of us (note, the born-again story only occurs in John 3). I am not born again the same way you are, even if we both said the same "sinner's prayer" when we were in VBS so many years ago.

Like rebirth, we probably all won't respond to this story in the same way. I'm not sure many stories are meant to be applied to every human being in the same way. I cannot tell you to sell everything, because I haven't. But, I most definitely will not advise you against it. Anyways ...

The Jesus of the gospels asks people to leave a lot of things, from family to possessions. I was wondering, what would be some of the hardest things to leave, if God "asked" you?

First and foremost, it would hard for me to leave the people I love. I mean, it is hard enough to by spatially distant from people, let alone truly and indefinitely absent from them. Although, I guess sometimes we do have to leave people in a sense, when they die or disappear.

Next would be my laptop and my saxophone. Probably my laptop would be harder, because it allows me to communicate, write, and read. I could give up my books. I probably won't even bring them all with me when I move from Boiling Springs. But my laptop? That would be rough. And I don't even play that saxophone very often, but I love her so much. It is nice to just know she is there and know she'll sing with me, no matter how much I neglect her.

Oh, and somewhere in this top three, I need to include food or access to food. I mean, I "go hungry" sometimes, but I'm a fan of eating. Some people drink, others smoke, different ones take drugs, and still others have different addictions--from sex to cutting. I enjoy food. Taste is a gift from God, my friends. And, friends, since I like almost every food, I have been blessed!

What's your top three?